


Learning to Love

by Sad_Boah



Series: The Outlaws [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Domestic Fluff, F/M, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Miscarriage, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, Rape, Rough Sex, Sad, Sleepy Cuddles, Teen Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:48:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23980033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sad_Boah/pseuds/Sad_Boah
Summary: You are a 19-year-old with a dark past, living in the 1880s. When you stumble across the young outlaw, Arthur Morgan, your life changed from a girl with barely enough money for a daily dinner to an outlaw in a gang. You struggle to trust your new lover due to past abuse when you were abducted as a teenager and abused physically, mentally, and sexually. It's a struggle to keep going with your PTSD, panic attacks, and suicidal tendencies, but as you and Arthur's bond grows and strengthens you start to put your faith in him. What will happen when your past catches up to you and uncovers answers to questions you've been wondering since you were taken from your family. Trying to break down your wall, you start to explore new territories with your lover both conventionally and sexually. !!WARNING!! THIS WILL HAVE MATURE THEMES LIKE SUICIDE, SEXUAL THEMES, ALCOHOL AND DRUG USE, ACTION, RAPE, AND ABUSE. THESE MAY TRIGGER SOME READERS AND IF YOU ARE NOT COMFORTABLE WITH THOSE DO NOT READ THIS FIC!!
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Reader
Series: The Outlaws [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1729012
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	1. I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This book contains topics of rape, abuse, violence, drug and alcohol abuse, language, sexual themes, and self-harm. Do not read if any of these topics upset you. This will be the only warning.

The summer wind blew through your hair as you rode on the back of your horse. You were off the marked path and riding through the planes. Small rodents ran out of you and your stallions way as his hooves' vibrations alerted them. The sun had just peeked over the distant mountains, illuminating the desert landscape. Multiple patches of grass, varying in size and color, littered the beige-ish frontier, like paint splatters on a canvas. Green and lively trees stood in the distance, making small forests. The few clouds in the sky were stringy and flowy. It was silent, only the occasional call of a lone bird breaking it.  
You patted the neck of your horse, combing your finger through his black mane and slowing down to a fast trot. Twirling a piece of your horse's mane between your thumb and index finger, you slowed to a walk. "Hey Bub, Do you want to ride down to the river?" You asked your horse, calling him by his nickname 'bub'.  
He threw his head around before neighing, happily. He had been to the river with you so many times, he knew the word meant that he'd get to play in the water, which was just him rearing and bucking while making happy horse noises.  
"I'll take that as a yes," you stated to him as you gripped the reins and took off into a gallop.

●○《《☆》》○●

You sat on the nearby sand as you watched your horse slash in the cool water, the sun reflecting off his coat. You rolled your eyes at his carelessness, but you had to admit he was cute. You laid down, relying on your forearms to keep your torso up. You were sprayed by the occasional splash of water as your horse either reared, bucked, or did his occasional crow hop. You looked over to him.  
Your stallion gave you his two eyes, one brown and one blue, before laying down in the middle of the flowing water, never taking his eyes off you. You raised an eyebrow, "Don't even th-" he broke away from your gaze and started rolling, saddle and all. "Bub, stop you're goin' to ruin our tack!" You yelled at him, you couldn't hold your stern composure as well as you would've liked and started laughing. Your horse rolled over a little before rolling back, using the motion to help himself up.  
His blood bay coat had become a shade darker and his mane had water dripping off it. You cocked your head to the side, smiling. You walked over to him and wrapped your arms around his neck. He rested his head on your shoulder.  
You pulled away, looking up at him. He shook his coat, spraying water all over you as if he were a dog. You laughed and shielded your face with your forearm then shook your head, still smiling. You rubbed his forehead with your hand, going under his forelock.  
Your horse let out a small winnie and bowed down so you could mount onto his back. You grabbed the reins and saddle horn, straightening up as he stood. Sitting deeper into the saddle, you wondered if you should tighten the cinch but then dismissed the thought. You started into a trot, trudging through the water.  
You rode through the forest, pieces of sunlight peeking through the tree leaves. The sounds of hoof against compact dirt were the only noise as you rode towards civilization. You would bid an occasional greeting to passing riders, some responding, others not. As you were getting closer, you could hear the commotion of the small town known as Valentine.  
Riding into the town, you passed multiple familiar faces that stuck around in the area. You smiled and waved at a few. Taking a turn towards the general store, you steered around townsfolk.  
You hopped off your stallion and hitched him in front of the shop. Patting him, you held a small oat cake up to his muzzle. He ate it with no hesitation, stomping his back foot when you walked away. "It's okay, bub." You cooed to him before walking into the store.  
The store door swung open as a man walked out. He looked and you then tilted his hat down, hiding his face. You held the door open as he walked past and walked into the store once he was out. Approaching the cashier, you smiled and started a conversation with him. "So, how's it going today?" He placed his elbows on the counter and leaned forward. "Pretty good, pretty good. My wife's due any day now. How about you, Ms. Y/N?"  
"I'm not pregnant."  
"'How's your day been' is what I meant."  
"Oh! Sorry, good. I took my stallion to the river, he got my tack wet though." You huffed out the last part. The cashier, named Lenny, threw his head back and started laughing. You pointed a finger at him, "I wouldn't be laughing, ever heard of a thing called 'karma'?" He smiled at you, "Next thing you know, your wagon will be in the river, not by me, by karma."  
You stopped talking when the door of the store swung open and the same guy from earlier walked in. You said goodbye to Lenny before walking towards the food. You couldn't help but be a little curious about why the man had come in twice. Defeated, you started eavesdropping on their conversation.  
"Back so soon, what can I get ya today?"  
"Bullets figured I'd go to ya since you're closer than the gunsmith."  
"Okay, here's the catalog. Pick something out and I'll bring it out from the back."  
"Thanks."  
You started picking up some canned food and salted meat. You walked up to the counter, the guy with the cowboy hat had stepped to the side. You gave him a small smile before standing in silence. You gave him a sideways glance, taking in his features.  
He had light brown hair, aquamarine eyes, and heavy stubble, he looked around your age, twenty. You looked away when he looked over to you. You gulped, not fully thinking what you were about to do through.  
"Um, your eyes are really pretty," you stated, taking yourself by surprise with your boldness.  
He looked at you confused, "My eyes?" You nodded, "Yeah, they're a stunning color of blue. I could get lost in them if I chose to.” He scoffed, "Ya have no idea whatcha talkin' about, ma'am." You gave the items to the cashier.  
"That'll be 5 dollars, Miss, Y/L/N." You gave Lenny the money and turned towards the guy with the cowboy hat.  
"No, I know exactly what I'm talking about." And with that, you walked out of the general store.

●○《《☆》》○●

You stuffed your bought items into your saddlebag. Closing the flaps to them, you went to un-hitch your horse. As you were doing so, you heard a long whistle from behind you. Turning around, you saw two men approaching you, both dirty as a pig in a mud puddle and smalling of straight smoke and alcohol. "That's a mighty fine steed ya got there," he said. You nodded, "Yeah, he's pretty great." The man held out his hand which you shook.  
"I'm John Hencha," he pointed to the man behind him, "He's Michael Gallagher." You smiled at them, "it's nice to meet you both."  
John looked over to your stallion. "What's his breed?"  
"Oh, he's a Morgan/Friesian mix."  
"What's his name?"  
"Um, Desert Hawk, Hawk for short. Why?"  
"Well, miss. I'd like to buy Hawk from you."  
You stared at him before shaking your head. "He's not for sale," you stated, holding your ground. You didn't like this situation. You started to mount Hawk when your wrist was gripped by John's hand. You let out a small and quick yelp as you were pulled off of Hawk by the man. You gasped as you hit the ground, your lungs craving the air they just lost on the contact. Now you really didn't like the situation. “Mike, get the horse,” John said to his partner. You watched as Mike started to approach Hawk, who was prancing around nervously because of all the action. Mike grabbed the reins and jumped on Hawk, spurring him to go faster.  
You got up from the ground, your breaths long and deep. Before getting on the horse closest to you. You saw John pull out his gun.  
Almost mechanically, you turned around and shot the man in the shoulder. He hunched over placing his hand on the wound. John started to raise his gun, slowly but sure of himself. You spurred the horse and whipped the reins a few times before the horse took off into a gallop.  
You let out a frustrated groan. You gripped the reins in one hand and the horn with the other. You saw Hawk in the distance, trying to buck the rider off. “Can you go a little faster, horse?” You asked the horse, getting frustrated at its lack of speed compared to Hawk. You slapped the horse on its thigh, attempting to make it go just a little faster. Responding with a buck, it eventually gave in to your request and started to cover the distance by twice the time it was a little while ago. "Good job!" You praised the horse.  
As you crept closer to the rider, you kicked the horse beneath you, making it match Hawk's speed. You steered the horse into Hawk, your breath coming out between gritted teeth.  
Running into your horse you jump onto him, pushing the rider, Mike, off. You heard the sound of his oxygen leaving his lungs. He shouted something unintelligible before pulling out his gun. You ducked instinctively at the sound of his gunshots. You pulled out your gun, turned around, and shot him in the center of his forehead. The sound of hooves against the ground was soon accompanied by a lifeless body thudding to the dirt.  
As the moment ended your body slowly started to relax. You got the other horse to run back towards the town. Sighing, you slouched into the saddle and put your revolver pack in its holster. You rode off into the distance, hoping to find a place to set up camp.

●○《《☆》》○●

The night started to close in and you still haven't found a safe place to lie down. You wanted to close your eyes and just fall asleep in the saddle. Exhaustion took over you as the rhythm of Hawk's motion lured you to sleep. You couldn't keep your eyes open for much longer before you fell into the abyss.

●○《《☆》》○●

The sounds of birds calling out above you were the cause of your waking. You shielded your eyes with your forearm and looked out across the vast wilderness. A train whistled in the distance. The sun shone brightly down on you, warming the top of your head. You slid off Hawk, grabbing hold of his reins and swinging them over his head. Leading him, you looked down and kicked the occasional rock in your path. You stood by Hawk and used his body as a shield from the sun. You sighed, not sure what to do next.  
The sun beaming down on you was getting hotter and more intense by the minute. You had sweat dripping down your face. You wiped your forehead with the back of your hand then placed it by your side. The familiar sound of gunshots rang over the flat landscape.  
"This is a robbery, cooperate and no one gets shot." Called out a male echo. You put your foot into the left stirrup of your saddle, grabbed the horn and cantle of the saddle and pushed up, swinging your leg over his back and landing in the seat. Hawk's ears turned in the direction of the commotion, his body tensing as he heard another bullet. “Why in the middle of the day?” You asked yourself. He shook his head, pulling himself back into the present.  
Your spurs dug into Hawk's sides as Hawk jumped into a gallop, running towards the sound. You kicked him a few times, the adrenaline getting to you. Dust came out in puffs and trailed behind you and Hawk. You let out a grunt as you passed a stagecoach heading the same way as you. Taking a sharp turn to the left, you went off the marked path, it being a little quicker than the other way.  
Hawk approached a farmer's land, jumping over the nearest fence and running through the fields of corn. His movement created a steady rhythm that your body could follow, keeping you on his back. You turned your head at the sound of a dog approaching you and Hawk.  
The dog started yapping as it approached Hawk's hind legs, nipping at his heels. Hawk kicked the dog in the ribs. The dog let out a loud yelp as it ran away, frantically.  
You cut through the field and ran up the farm house's driveway as the residents slammed open the front door, chasing you with a hunting rifle. "Ya better get off my land unless ya want a bullet in ya skull!" The farmer yelled from his front porch. "Sorry," you yelled, never making eye contact with him. You clicked Hawk on a little and cursed under your breath as gunshots rushed past you.  
"You've gotta be kidding me," you mumbled under your breath as you turned around in your saddle. You reached for your holstered gun and pulled it out, raising it to line with the farmer.  
The farmer followed suit, mirroring you. You laced your finger between the trigger guard and trigger, gently placing your finger on the cold metal. Exhaling, you pulled the trigger and heard your gunshot ring out. You turned back around as you heard the body fall to the wooden deck, tucking your gun back into its holster.  
When you had ridden into Valentine, you saw an image that matched the description of utter chaos. Bodies littered the wide, muddy road. Some not fully dead but withered up in pain, screaming bloody murder. Puddles of blood pooled in groups, taking the place of water and making a sickening contrast between red and brown. You shuttered at the sight and got off Hawk.  
Suddenly, a group of voices came from in front of you. Ducking into the nearest alley, you gripped the gun's handle, ready to pull it out. A group of men, all wearing bandannas to cover their mouths, walked out of the building next to you. You leaned against the wall, out of their view. The men walked down the road heading your way. You walked deeper into the alley, covering your mouth with your hand. You stood, frozen as the gang approached Hawk, who was standing in the middle of the road, and stopped. 

Shit, why didn't I get off somewhere else?

"I thought all the horses got scared off?" One asked with a thick Mexican accent. "Nah, this one's new," replied another. The one in the front of the group with a red bandanna raised his gun, "I say we shoot it." You let out a small gasp at the statement and pulled out your gun still keeping it at your side.  
You were beaten to the action when the second to the front touched the barrel of the leader's gun, lowering it. "Don't waste a bullet," he said in a low and husky voice. "Oh, come on, Morgan. You just don't want him to kill the horse." One of the members, who had long, greasy hair sticking out from under his white hat, teased.  
"Damn right, Micha. Go ahead and waste that bullet on him though, Dutch, preferably in the head." The man said, pointing at Micha.  
The leader, Dutch, ignored him and put his gun back into his holster. "You got the money, Javier?" Dutch asked. The Mexican, Javier, responded with a nod.  
"Arthur, stay behind and find the owner of this stallion. Then do what you want with them." Arthur nodded and let the men behind him pass by, leaving him in the middle of the road. "I'll head back to camp when I'm done," he responded, turning around and walking past you.  
As the other men filed out of the town, Arthur gripped his gun looking in nearby building windows. You gulped and swiftly slid from your hiding spot, approaching the gang member from behind. Raising the gun, you placed the barrel against the back of his head.  
"Drop your gun or I pull this trigger," you sternly stated to the man. The man swung his rifle over to his back in defeat and put his hands up. "Ya don't want to do this, miss," he said, confidently.  
"Oh, but I do," you said, just as confident. Your gun tilted as you gestured with your hand. He let out a sigh that was perfectly balanced between anger and annoyance. Slowly, he started to reach for his hunting knife.  
"Lower that gun, or I swear to the lord above I'll slit your pretty little throat," he stated through gritted teeth. Taking notice of his developing action, you kicked his feet out from under him and placed your hand on his shoulder, pulling him down to the ground. Stepping out of his way, you watched him fall to the ground, the loose dirt moving out of his way as he fell and coming out as puffs. You knelt on one of your knees, your hand with your gun resting on your bent leg. The outlaw refused to make eye contact with you as you looked at him. You tilted your hand with your gun in it as you talked, "Do you really want to do that again, Mr. Morgan. Because I promise I'll stomp the living hell out of your face." He made eye contact with you as you finished taking. His eyes momentarily flashed with fear when he saw your face but the emotion went just as quickly as it had appeared.  
"What are you, a bounty hunter?"  
"No."  
"How do you know my last name?" He asked. You scoffed. "I heard you and your little gang talking.”  
He rolled his eyes and looked to the side, breaking eye contact with you. You let out a scoff while sneering at him. Morgan looked everywhere but at you before making eye contact with you, glaring. "Yer Childish" You nodded. "Yeah, I know. It's one of my strong suits," you said, mockery dripping off every word. "Take it sarcasm is too?" He asked.  
You smiled, "Yep, now put your hands behind your back." You flipped him on his stomach and put his hand behind his back as you pointed your gun at him. You holstered your gun and took your lasso out from your satchel and started to tie the outlaw's arms and legs. He attempted to make small talk as you did so.  
"I saw you earlier today," he said. You nodded, absentmindedly, and flipped him back over then helped him sit up.. "' You have really pretty eyes' is whatcha'd said." He said, recalling back on the memory. Your eyes widened as what he said clicked in your brain. "You? You were the handsome cowboy?" You asked. You could have sworn that you saw him blush but most of his face was covered by his bandanna. Taking off his hat and placing it on the ground next to you, you took note of his eye. They checked out, a piercing aquamarine filling his irises. You then pulled down his bandanna, taking in his features like you had that morning. You had to admit he was good looking. He had full lips and sharp cheekbones, all completed with that Goddamn stubble.  
"I really could get lost in them though," you said, only bringing up his eyes, before placing his hat back on his head. Silence took over the two of you as you thought of what to do next. You looked over to Arthur. He was sitting up with his arms tied behind his back and his legs, that were also tied, bent, and was looking down at the dusty ground. You cleared your throat. The outlaw snapped his head up, looking at you. "Who are you? I mean besides an outlaw." He looked away from you as if to think of an answer, then looked at you. "You don't know who I am?" You shook your head, "I know your name, Arthur Morgan, but who is Arthur Morgan?"  
The man shook his head, causing you to look at him, confused. "You don't want to know what I've done, miss. I'm a bad man, I've sinned plentiful. I kill people, innocent people, miss. People with families, spouses, and children." You gave him a look of sympathy before telling your own story. Looking into the distance, not focusing on anything, you started talking. "I used to live in a little house on a farm with my mommy and daddy. We had a little Australian Shepherd named Georgia Rose, she was the runt of the litter. We called her Rose for short, though. I remember running through the fields of wheat and sticking my hand out like a bird so they could hit the rows of plants… or when I'd find a spider in the house and my mommy said I could only keep it as a pet for a week before I'd have to let it go.  
"The men came when I was fifteen, I didn't know who they were or what they wanted. They grabbed me away from my mommy's grasp and stabbed her, I'm not sure how many times. I looked away after five. My daddy was mad, lunged at them. They shot him in the head. They took me away to their camp or something. They, um," you looked at the ground hesitant, "Sorry, I don't talk about this to anyone." He gave you a quiet "It's okay," still looking into your eyes. "Why are you bein' so open to me?" He asked, pulling you back to reality.  
You looked up at him, smiling, "You're not as inhumane as you think Arthur Morgan, you mourn the people you kill. Bad men don't do that, they spit on the people they kill. Plus, you saved my horse. He means the world to me. So, thank you." He looked away from you again, that thing he always did when he was responding to your comments.  
"Are you still gonna turn me in?" He asked. You stood up, helping him stand up as well. "Maybe, I'll keep you with me just in case. If I do decide to let you go I'll drop you off near where you're staying." You called Hawk over to you and watched as he trotted over to your location.  
Latching under his arms, You let out a grunt as you hoisted Arthur onto Hawk’s rear. You repositioned your shirt as you approached your saddle. You put your left foot in the stirrup and pushed up into the saddle, grabbing the reins. Kicking Hawk into a trot, you went down the main road. Occasionally, you would look back at Arthur, who was laying on his stomach and had his head turned to the side as he shook slightly with Hawks trotting rhythm. You looked ahead, calling Hawk to go faster.  
You and Arthur rode in silence, the tension almost tangible. The sun was slowly setting, the moon taking its place. You slowed from your canter to a walk. Part of you forgot he was there. You sighed as you turned in the saddle, checking on your passenger. You let out a small chuckle when you saw him.  
He was looking to the back, his cheek pressed against Hawk's rear. It was entertaining to see an outlaw be so defenseless. "You got something to ask me?" You looked at him, taken aback by his sudden snarky remark. You built up your own wall of lack-of-trust. "No," you said in a monotone voice. He scoffed back at you. "Then don't look at me," he spat each word out like venom. You inhaled quietly, his attitude getting old.  
"Now listen here, Mr. Morgan. One more snappy remark and I'll hit you upside the head." You warned him. He turned his head to look at you, "I'd like to see you try." He said, trying to urge you on. You happily obliged and hit him with a balled hand, hard. You couldn't believe you thought he was a kind, misunderstood man. You were wrong.  
He growled as you pulled your hand away, spitting a mixture of blood and saliva onto the ground. He tucked his face into his shoulder and wiped the excess saliva off with the fabric covering it. He looked just as mad as you and the once awkward silence was now filled with a hot rage coming off the both of you. You looked up at the moon. You were mad, no doubt, but you had to give him the benefit of the doubt. He was being captured by you, a random girl, and was hogtied on the back of her horse. You sighed in defeat, you had to apologize. "I'm sorry," you said, quietly, looking forward. He mumbled a tiny, "it'okay" and fell silent again.  
You stopped your horse, this wasn't right. You had to do what was right. "Goddamnit," you hissed from between your teeth, sliding off Hawk. Arthur craned his neck to look up, confused by your sudden outburst.  
"What?" He asked. You let out a groan, mentally arguing with yourself. You kicked a small pebble in anger and watched bounce across the dirt. You looked at Arthur then the sky, still not sure about your final decision. You placed your hands on both sides of your face, pulling your features down as you dragged them down your face. You looked at him, "I have to let you go."  
Arthur's face immediately lit up, he was taking the news better than you were. You pulled him down and tried your best to place him on the ground gently. You grabbed your knife, cutting the ropes that bound his limbs together. You were ashamed to admit it, but part of you still wanted to turn him in.  
Hell, you weren't ashamed for long. Anyone would want the money that was hanging above his head, it was probably in the high hundreds. You finished arguing with yourself, knowing it was for the best. You waved your hand at the man, dismissing him. 

"Go."

Then, then you were silent.

Arthur took advantage of the moment, turned on his heels, and started sprinting in the direction opposite of you. You sighed as you tried to push the regret from your decision out of your mind. You had to control yourself from running after him even though every fiber of your being wanted to chase after him. You turned away from the sight of the outlaw running away. Sadness, you felt sadness and you didn’t have a clue as to why.  
As if on cue a small water droplet fell from the night sky and onto the top of your head, weaving through your hair and wetting your scalp.  
Did Arthur feel sad? God, no. He was probably thanking the lord above as he ran away. You started walking towards Hawk. He started at you, cautiously, reading your emotions. He walked over to you and gently nudged your shoulder. You rubbed your hand up and down his cheek, “It’s okay Bub, just might’ve lost some money.”  
Hawk, who ignored your comment, dipped his head down and started nibbling on the grass, pulling little tuffs up every once in a while. You let out a sigh, not surprised that he didn’t care. Your fingers ran down your face as you let out a groan of anger.  
“I want to go after him, you know?” You looked down at Hawk, who never lifted his head from the grass and only looked up at you. You looked forward as more rain droplets fell to the ground. The rain started to come down harder by the minute. You craned your head upwards to look at the clouds, the moon now covered by gray clouds.  
It was illuminating the clouds, casting an eerie yet beautiful light, and bringing out all of the details in them. You looked over at Hawk, trying to feel at peace. This was always when you fell apart, when you doubted your own existence, it was when you were alone. You let out a sharp gasp for air as the panic from today's events came flooding in. You gripped the fabric covering your collarbone, trying to gain control of your shaking limbs.  
The pain in the chest felt like a hand clenching your heart, creating a pressure that was never going to end. You let out a shaky, unstable exhale as you tried to create a rhythm for your breathing. You tried to signal Hawk through your panicked gasp, "C-come.. here… Hawk. P-please?"  
Hawk lifted his head, sensing your tension. You took in a few struggling breaths as you stumbled over to Hawk and latched onto his neck. Once you had the extra stability you started to try to control your breathing, taking a breath in then out. You knew you had to get on Hawk and start riding so you could take your mind off the aching in your chest.  
Grabbing the horn of your saddle, you hoisted yourself up into the leather seat. Your spurs dug into Hawk's sides as you brought him up a gait, then another, until you were doing a steady gallop. You attempted to block out all other sounds, only focusing on Hawk's hoofbeats.  
The reins couldn't hold steady in your shaky hands. You slowed to a trot, knowing you couldn't ride any faster in the state you were in. You reached into your satchel, pulled out a bottle of whiskey, thinking it was your only choice, and took a long swig of the strong alcohol. You let out a few coughs before swallowing the straggling bits of it left in your mouth. Wiping your mouth with your sleeve, you tucked the empty glass bottle into your satchel before grabbing your last one.  
You hoped this was enough to at least get you a little intoxicated. As you downed the burning liquid, you prayed it was enough to ease your panic or at least stop it for a little bit. You sighed as you felt your balance begin to leave ever so slightly and the brim of your eyesight started to blur. You let out a laugh.  
You were drunk.  
You let your arms fall to your side, your back slump. Your neck was craned to look up and your eyes were closed. You let out another laugh as you felt the panic leave your mind, momentarily.  
Tears started to fill your closed eyes as you let out a mixture between a sob and laugh. You hated doing this, having a panic attack than having to either get stone-cold drunk or cut the living hell out of your wrist to pass it sometimes both. To be honest you just hated living in general.  
You felt a tear escape your eye and roll down your cheek. You used the back of your hand to wipe it away. You opened your eyes and looked down at Hawk. "I'm a fucking train wreck, aren't I?" You asked him, in your drunk state and thinking he would respond. You barked out a laugh, "Yeah, I guess you're right." Your hand rested on the top of Hawk's neck as you slightly leaned over the saddle, not fully being able to hold your own weight. A dry laugh escaped your lips as you humored at your weakness. God, you needed pain to feel at peace, too feel a little at peace. You gulped, the paranoia of what you'll do once the alcohol's effect wears out. You could always go to plan B if you were still panicking when it's over, using your knife. You couldn't help but remember what it was like before you had these mental problems before you were fifteen.  
Before they took you.  
Before they beat you.  
Before they raped you.  
Before you had their warm blood on your hands.  
You held your wrists up to your eyes, covering them, and let out a sob, your brief drunkenness leaving as quickly as it came. You hated those memories, but they were all you could think about most of the time.  
You used to believe in, "Time heals all wounds". It may, but the scars are still there. You can't forget what happened. You can't forget how it felt. You can't help it that every time you see a gun, a knife, or hear a scream you're pulled back to those fearful moments that left a permanent mark in your consciousness. Or the need to strangle every member in that gang from here on out. One of those pricks gave you a child then took it away before it was even born. You lost your child, your Goddamn child, because of them.  
You let out a breathy, "Fuck" before bringing yourself back to the present. 

I wonder if that outlaw's doing better than me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The posting of this book might not be the best so give me some mercy, please. Please leave constructive criticism.


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really short because I found out that it's harder to write a chapter when the main focus is Arthur. The next chapter will definitely be longer like three times the length of this one.

Arthur jogged across the open plane, his feet hitting the hard, compact ground at an even pace. Slowing down to a slow jog before stopping, he bent over and put his hands on his knees, catching his breath. He only had two more miles from his estimate. His throat was dry and had a rough, sticky feeling when he would swallow the excess saliva that was floating around his mouth. Once his pulse and breathing had slowed, he picked up the speed he had been running at. The wind was blowing towards him, his shirt sticking to his sweaty skin. Grabbing at his shirt, he unbuttoned the first three buttons on his it. He continued to run across the land, his articles of clothing annoyingly sticking to his skin.  
He ran past a group of deer that were grazing on the few patches of grass, the moon's light casting a blueish glow on their fur. One’s head shot up and the rest was soon to follow suit, all of them raising their heads before running off into the forest to Arthur's right. He crossed over a train track, hoping it would get him to the town faster. He was worried about his mare, Boadicea.  
She was never the best at being separated from him and that scared Arthur. She was a loyal horse but didn't have a good temper when it came to most things. She was more of a "go than woah" horse. But she was his horse, his Boadicea. He learned how to ride on her, falling off a few times but he eventually got through to her. He loved that horse. He had to get to her. 

●○《《☆》》○●

The moon shone down on the buildings lining the roads in the small, desolate town. The dry dirt was emitting a cracking sound into the open air as he stepped on it.  
Carelessly walking through the abandoned town, Arthur thought he was the only one there. He walked down the middle of the road, his arms swinging around carelessly. Fear wasn't taking any space in his brain until he heard the sounds of distant inhabitants talking and multiple light sources coming from around the corner. He stopped in his tracks and ran to a side of the nearest building, out of view from the group of what he suspected was law from the closest town to Valentine.  
One of the officers walked around the corner and swung his lantern towards where Arthur was standing previously. Moving it slightly side to side, the officer let out a "huh" before rejoining his group. Arthur had to admit the law around there wasn't the best. Keeping his back pressed against the wall, he slid towards the back of the building, keeping a safe distance from the officers. Moving from one building to the next, he started getting closer to Boadicea but he was also getting closer to the officers. He knew he couldn't signal Boa over to him without alerting the officers of his presence. Walking through an alley to cut to the road. Standing against the side of the building, he looked around to spot the whereabouts of the officer.  
It was a group of three all facing different directions and at the other end of the road. Quickly but quietly, Arthur approached his mare, grabbed her reins, and hopped on her. One of the officers turned around abruptly, "Hey!" The other two looked in the same direction before jumping into action. Hopping on their horse, they followed after Arthur. Quickly kicking Boadicea's sides, the horse took off in a gallop, not relying on her owner to direct her. Throwing her head around, she kept a steady rhythmic pattern with her stride.  
Looking over his shoulder, Arthur saw the two officers following after him. One of them held a shotgun and the other held a revolver. Arthur turned his head forward. He saw a rider in the distance, at least it looked like a rider, maybe it was a rock. As he approached the object, he could confirm it was, indeed, a horse and rider. He knew he wouldn't stop in time. He knew he couldn't stop in time.  
Accepting his fate, he ran into the horse. The impact sent him flying into the air. His side made contact with the hard ground. He let out a groan as a surge of pain ran through his body. Rolling to his back, he started to get up being greeted by Boadicea and the horse she ran into.  
He knew the horse. It was the girl's horse, The girl who saved him. What if he hurt her, or worse. He got up off the ground, frantically, with his hands up, surrendering. "Just let me check on her," he told the officers, running up to her.  
She had been thrown from her horse as well and was on her hands and knees, coughing and taking in gulps of air. He let out a sigh of relief. She was alive at least. He was calm for a moment before he felt a foot make contact with his back, kicking him to the ground. He turned his head to the side, wanting to at least save his nose from having to make contact with the ground. Groaning, he let out a weak protest. The biggest officer walked over to Arthur, holding his lasso in his left hand the other touching the grip of his holster gun, and placed one foot on either side of Arthur. Arthur craned his head to look in front of him, his chin pressed against the ground.  
The girl was getting tied up as well. She was more resistant in the restraints, pulling at the ropes and squirming against the officer's touch. Arthur was giving in, he knew the officers had the upper hand. Fighting with them was like a bunny wrestling with a bear, one winning before the fight even stated. Plus, he had preferred not to have a chunk of lead in his head.  
The broad officer picked up Arthur and slung him over his shoulder, walking up to his horse. Arthur was laid across the back of the man’s horse. He watched as the girl thrashed around in the other officer's grip before getting tossed onto his horse. She looked up at Arthur, glaring at him and blowing a loose strand of hair out of her face. “I’m not even with the bastard! He just ran into me and my horse!”  
The officer on the horse she was on was the one that responded to her comment, “He wanted to check on ya, so he must know ya.” She was contracting and bending on the horse, almost like an inchworm. Arthur chuckled lightly at the thought. The girl looked up at him, “What?” She snapped. He looked away mumbling a “Nevermind”.  
“I don’t know him, the only reason he recognizes me is because I tried to turn the prick in to the police!”  
The officer controlling Arthur’s horse spoke up, “Sorry, Miss. We can’t take any chances. This kid’s a member of a pretty infamous gang.” The girl shot a glare at him, “Which one?” She demanded through gritted teeth. If she wasn’t tied up and on the back of a law man’s horse, Arthur would have been intimidated. The officer turned around in the saddle, “Why don’t you tell her, cowboy?”  
Arthur looked at the ground, “Van Der Linde.” The two officers started laughing, “That’s right. We got one of Dutch’s boys.” Arthur spat on the ground, squirming in his restraints and ranting about how his gang would shoot the officers’ town to bits. This was going to be a long ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? Really short. I'll try to post the third chapter as quickly as possible because I gave you guys a pretty crappy one.


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this took so long, I'm a pro a procrastinating.

The sounds of a metal door opening were heard before you and Arthur were thrown into a cell together. The momentum made you slightly stumble forward towards the far wall. You had a brief moment where you thought you were going to fall but the thought was quickly dismissed when you regained your balance. Letting out a sigh, you turned around to see the metal door close behind you. 

You walked up to the bars, wrapping your fingers around two. The cool metal pressed against your skin. You rested your forehead against the bar in between the two you were gripping onto, ignoring the dull pain that was present on the thin skin covering your skull. Dropping your head to look at the ground, you kicked the same bar where it was welded to the ground. You turned back around to face Arthur, who was leaning against one of the three walls. 

He was looking at the ground with his arms crossed. The odd lighting casted a shadow that was hiding his features. You pressed your back against the bars, one of them resting awkwardly against your shoulder blade. "What do we do now? When will we get out?" 

Arthur looked up then at you. "There's talk 'bout hangin' us." Your lips slightly parted as your eyes widened with shock. Arthur, quickly picking up on your body language, added, "With how shitty this station is, it'll be a' _least_ half a month before they even make it official." A breath hitched in your throat, your head tilted up slightly. "Hey," he shook you when you didn't respond, "Hey! … we're going to be alright." 

You looked up at him, he was tall at least six feet tall, and swallowed the lump in your throat. "How?" You asked. "Dutch 'ill get us out." You stared at him shocked. He really expected his leader to get him out of here. "How do you expect me to believe that a lowlife, heartless outlaw will get us out?" 

Arthur shushes you, "Let's not shout that, got it? You need to have some faith in him," Arthur stated. You nodded, curtly, starting to get annoyed by his sudden optimism. "Yeah, because faith will just rip these iron bars apart and shoot every officer in this building." You stated in a sarcastic tone. Arthur glared at you. "That wasn't what I was getting at. So, stop testing me," he warned through gritted teeth. You rolled your eyes, turning away from the man in the cell with you. 

_How is he staying so calm? Has he done this before?_

Crossing your arms you sat on the cot in the counter of the enclosure. You got up quickly after, a sudden burst of anger flowing through your veins. Walking up to Arthur, you pressed your index finger against his sturdy chest and started yelling at him. "You got me into this mess, you fucking bastard! I'm going to die because of you, you, and your stupid gang business!" 

A few small droplets of saliva sprayed out of your mouth. With your small flare of anger leaving, you retreated, sitting back down on the cot and letting out an annoyed huff. Arthur let out a sigh before leaning against the wall furthest from you. You watched him pull out a journal, that the officers had let him keep, open it, and start writing in it. You noticed that his hand and pencil were moving in an uncoordinated pattern, not left to right. 

He wasn't writing, he was drawing. 

You furrowed your brows. "What ya doin?" You asked. You waited for him to answer. When he didn't answer you warned him, "I'm gonna take that small, leather journal from you if you don't answer me." 

Arthur let out a scoff, smirking, "I bet." 

You let out a small shocked exhale, smiling in amusement. Walking up to the man, you grabbed the journal out of his big hands, feeling the smooth leather against your fingers, and turned your back to him. He let out a low "Hey" and grabbed one of your shoulders. You shrugged his hand off and walked back to the cot. "Give it back," he warned you. You let out a single laugh at his weak threat before opening the journal and starting to read it. 

Arthur sat in silence as you read his journal. Your eyes skimmed across the paper. The left page had a five-sentenced entry and the right had a detailed drawing of you on the back of one of the officer's horses and a sketch of the inside of your cell. You read over the paragraph on the left page, your eyes falling on the words 'Stuck up'. 

You looked up at Arthur, "I'm not 'stuck up'." 

The outlaw scoffed, "I find that hard to believe." You let your jaw hang slightly at his response. Arthur threw his head back slightly and let out a few laughs. You stared at him, not saying anything. Tearing your gaze away from his, you looked back at Arthur's journal and started looking at the drawing on the right page. He was a talented artist, to say the least. 

The shading of the cell was simple yet experienced. The proportions of the horses were almost perfect. The drawing of you on the back of one of the horses captured your actions in a way you thought only cameras can. 

You looked up at the man, a man with many layers. 

"You're creative. I can tell that." You stated, looking up at Arthur. He shrugged, "I guess. It's more to see how far I've come in my journey than a sketchbook." Nodding, You found it amusing that an outlaw, like Arthur, shared a common hobby with you. "I have one too. I use it as a therapeutic relief." 

Arthur nodded, understanding what you were trying to get at. "How often do you need 'therapeutic relief'?" You looked between your feet at the ground, "Pretty often." You looked up, gesturing to your surroundings, "Surprised I haven't had any panic attacks in here yet." Arthur followed your hand as you gestured. "Do you have it in your satchel?" 

You nodded, "Yeah." Arthur looked to the outside of your cell, starting to walk towards the row of iron bars. He draped his arms through two pairs of bars and slapped one of his hands against one multiple times in a rhythmic pattern, the contact making a hollow, metallic clang. 

"Officer, could ya get this young lady's journal from her satchel." 

The officer made minimal eye contact with Arthur before looking forward, ignoring him. "I'm certain a charming, kind man like you would help a beautiful, young lady like the miss over there," Arthur said, pointing his thumb at you from over his shoulder. You gulped, your nerves slowly creeping to the front of your mind. 

The officer looked to Arthur than to you and your slightly shaky limbs. He parted his lips, let a sigh escape between his lips, and turned on his heels, walking away from the pair. You looked over to Arthur, who still had his head resting between two bars. A lantern sitting on a wooden stool in the corner of the room casted a dim glow over Arthur, making his figure a silhouette from behind. He looked at peace in the cell, tapping his hand against the metal bar and creating a small, rhythmic melody. You ran a hand up and down the top of your thigh as the sounds of spurs clicking the concrete floor could be heard coming towards you. 

The guard approached Arthur with a lantern of his own. The lantern swung in a manner that made beams of golden light come through from between the bars. You watched as the guard handed Arthur your leather journal. 

Arthur tipped the leather book towards the officer and said a small "thank you" as the officer walked back to his post. You placed his journal next to you as he approached you with yours. You thanked him as you grabbed the journal, your fingers touching his slightly. Arthur walked up to the far wall and cocked one of his feet against it, taking his hat off and placing it in his hand. You were glad he wasn’t the type for small talk because neither were you.

You lifted the leather cover and grabbed the pencil that was stuffed between the back of the cover and the front page. You flipped to your current page and placed the tip of the lead onto the rough material. Lightly pressing the pencil against the paper, you started to move the pencil across the paper. The only sound that could be heard were the breaths coming from the people in the room and the light scrape of a pencil against paper. 

It was a peaceful noise, a rhythmic noise, same timing but a slightly different sound with each stroke. You would sometimes do multiple small strokes, creating a long line all together, or make a line with one, quick motion. Pressing your lead slightly harder into the page, you started to shade your finished sketch. Pulling the pencil away, you looked up and compared your drawing to the man in front of you. 

He had put his hat back on from the time you had started and had a cigarette placed between his lips, blowing out thick, blue smoke, everything else about his posture was the same. You let out a small exhale from your nose as you looked to your drawing than at Arthur. 

He lifted his head up slightly and looked towards you. You gulped, quickly breaking the contact and looking down at your drawing. You followed the lead lines with your eye as you felt Arthur’s gaze bore into your head. 

"Ya, finished with the page?" He asked. You looked up at him. His head hadn’t turned to look at you, only his eyes. The lantern perched in the corner reflected against his eyes, making his irises stand out amongst his face and adding a thin, glassy look to them. You had to admit that his eyes were stunning. Nodding, you tossed him the journal. He caught it in one hand, the other still occupied with the cigarette. 

He spread out his left hand, using his open palm to hold the leather book, and his other took his cigarette from his mouth from between two fingers, blowing out a small puff of smoke before taking another drag. He kept his head facing forward as he looked at the drawing of him leaning against the cell wall. Taking the cigarette from his mouth, he tilted his head upwards slightly and parted his lips, letting smoke seep out from between them.

You watched him from the cot, biting your lip slightly at his lack of commentary. He closed the journal and looked up towards you. “Why’d ya draw me?” He asked. You shrugged, keeping your gaze on the ground. 

“I’ve been with you the whole day, it’s kind of the only thing that’s happened today.” He nodded, looking forward again, and started to walk towards you. You tensed up slightly as his spurs clicked against the floor, signaling his approach. The cot dipped as he sat down next to you. He took his cigarette into his hand then stubbed it out against the wall behind the two of you. Flinging the cigarette to his side, Arthur held out the journal, making it look small in his large hand. 

Sighing, you grabbed it and rested it on your lap, running your fingers over the smooth, leather cover. You let your head rest against the hard wall, your throat shifting as you gulped. Your eyes closed as you rested against the wall.

Arthur looked towards you then back at the metal bars. He looked down before opening his journal and placing it between the two of you. 

You felt his movement and opened your eyes, looking down at the small journal. “I’ll let you read mine if I can read yours.” You looked to Arthur then back to the journal and shrugged. “Sure,” you answered. He gave you a half-smile, before turning his head to gaze at the small flame in the tarnished metal lantern. Your lips rolled between your teeth as you looked in the same direction, moving your gaze forward when Arthur stopped to look at you. 

Arthur held his hand out, “Can I?” You looked at your journal, grabbed it, and placed it in his open palm while still looking forward. He nodded, looking down. His hat tipped slightly at the motion, the rim covering his eyes. Unwrapping the small strip of leather wound around the small book, he opened the journal to the front page way too gently for a man of his size. 

You watched him carefully as he skimmed over the pages, slowly growing self-conscious. Your head recoiled slightly when the outlaw let out a single, low laugh. You furrowed your eyebrows as you tried to remember what you had written on the first few pages of your journal. You then remembered it was your old mare, Annabelle.

She was your first horse, a gorgeous Kentucky Saddler. Her chocolate palomino coat was so dark it looked almost black. She was a sturdy horse, didn’t spook even at the loudest of sounds. You had only had her for five years before she passed. 

That was when you found Hawk a wild, three-year-old horse. You were a witty, 17-year-old teenager who thought it was a smart idea to approach him and his herd. You had managed to lasso him and approach him, calmly. You thought that since he was calm while you put a bridle on him, he would be a calm horse. You had thought wrong.

He had attempted to buck you off more times than you could’ve counted. You fell off more time than you could’ve counted. He never returned to his herd when you fell off his back and onto the ground, he enjoyed it. When you did manage to get onto his back successfully without slipping off him because of his movements, you smiled to yourself when he didn’t attempt to buck you off and instead bent his head down to get a mouthful of grass from a lonely tuff sticking out of the dry ground. You started to get him to move forward, not wanting to have him stand still for too long. Pulling your left hand to your hip bone, you made the bay horse start to walk back to your makeshift camp.

Riding a wild horse was nothing like people said, you wished you had known that when you attempted to break one. He would crow hop or buck every time you tried to get him into a trot, refuse to respond to your tugging on the bitless bridle, and spook at the littlest things. 

You pointed to the picture that Arthur was looking at, a small sketch of Annabelle covered in mud after sliding down a hill. You laughed to yourself, a lace of sorrow joining in with the usually happy noise. You were such a mess back then, you’d have trouble turning doorknobs with your lack of mental stability. 

Arthur noticed your weak attempt at a happy noise and turned to look at you. "That was a pretty shitty laugh if I do say so m'self." 

You couldn't tell if he was worried or not. You scoffed, shaking your head, "I know. I wasn't there mentally when I started drawing in my journal." You watched Arthur's expression turn serious.

"They really took a toll on ya, huh?" He asked, sympathy displayed perfectly in his blue eyes. 

You could feel the beginning of tears starting to form. Blinking quickly, you looked to Arthur with your lips between your teeth and nodded. 

He looked away from you before making eye contact again. "Jesus, I'm sorry." 

You gripped the edge of the cot with both of your hands and took in a wheezy inhale, tilting your head upwards in an attempt to make the journey from mouth to lungs easier. You could hear your heartbeat pick up and start to beat with no rhythm. You tried to calm yourself by taking shallow breaths through your nose and out your mouth.

Gently tossing your journal to his side, Arthur scooted closer to you and hovered his hands over your shoulder, not fully sure what to do. "It's okay, you'll be okay." He whispered.

You let out a checked sob as tears rolled down your face. "Sorry.. I-it just happens," you managed to get out between sobs. 

Arthur placed his hands on your shoulder, gripping them slightly. "No, I brought it up." 

You nodded, "You're right, you did."

Arthur let out a single laugh while shaking his head. 

Once you had calmed down slightly, you looked to Arthur not sure if you should break the comfortable silence. "I'm sorry. I wish I could control them but… I don't know." 

Arthur looked at you then forward, taking his hat off and placing it on his lap. "had 'em too when I first joined my gang. Dutch helped me through 'em, think that's one of the reasons I trust him so much." 

You nodded, no one had helped you through your panic, Arthur was the first. "Why did you have your's, if you don't mind me asking?"

Arthur looked down and rested his elbows on his knees, placing his hat back on his head. “My dad. He was a pretty bad man, saw ‘im hang too.” Arthur looked at you, “I guess we all have our problems.” 

You nodded, looking back at him. It hurt and comforted you at the same time, other people had your problems, your anxiety. “Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to get the next chapter published as soon as possible but knowing myself it might take a while. Thanks for reading!


	4. IV

You had gotten used to the inevitable stop of your existence, your hanging. In a way, the thought calmed you. It wasn't a random, freak accident that you could avoid. There was no way around it, you were going to be hung. The feeling was hard to describe, it was unsettlingly serene.   
You were starting to get more comfortable around Arthur, as comfortable as you could with the two weeks you’d know each other. “So,” you let the word drag out on your lips, “When’s Dutch coming?”   
Arthur let out a sigh and drug his hand down the sides of his face. It was obvious how distraught he was. “Don’ know, probably left us to rot.” He threw his hands up slightly, shrugging. His faith for Dutch was slowly deteriorating; he thought he would have gotten the two of you by now. You, on the other hand, didn’t bat an eye at the realization that Mr. Van Der Linde wasn’t coming.  
“Hey, hey, now. What happened to faith?” You said, a small smile tugging at your lips. Arthur, not amused with your sarcasm, looked up at you with narrowed eyes, “It burned,” he deadpanned. You rolled your eyes, scoffing, "Yeah, I bet."   
Arthur looked to you, his brows furrowed, "How are you staying so calm about this?" You look at him, "About Dutch not coming to get us? I mean I kinda expe-"   
"No, about us bein' hung. How does that not scare ya, y/n?" He asked. You looked down and shrugged, starting to twiddle with your thumbs. You honestly didn’t have an opinion on the hanging, you were completely okay with dying. The events in your life had shown you to take life as it came, not worry about the future, and if life decided it didn’t want you on earth anymore so be it, but you didn’t want to tell him that. "I guess I've just learned that life has an end. Short or long."   
Arthur looked down, his foot bounced up and down quickly, "Yea, but wouldn' ya want your life to be a'least a little bit longer?" He looked up at you, "Wouldn't ya have wanted to accomplish a little bit more."   
You raised one of your eyebrows, your lip forming a small frown. "I'm a survivor, that's a big enough accomplishment for me." Arthur nodded. You could see a faint look of understanding on his face.   
The same lantern that had been there the past weeks still flickered strong, shining a golden ray of light over Arthur's features. He had a complexion that was slightly damaged by years in the hoarse sun. Small scars and sun-kissed freckles littered his face. His cheeks and the bridge of his nose were sunburnt. His nose looked like it had been broken a few times but still had a good structure. And he had a few small moles scattered on his face as well.  
You let out a shallow sigh, a small strand of hair following the direction of your exhale. "You doin' okay with the whole hanging thing?" You watched as Arthur took a sharp breath in.   
Bending over his legs, Arthur took his hat off and held it by the top. "What do ya think?" He whispered quietly, looking away from you. You nodded slowly. You knew it was bad to look forward to your hanging but you couldn’t help but feel a sense of calmness at the thought of passing, not having to deal with falling asleep wondering if someones going to kill you in your unconscious state or wondering if you have enough food to get you through a week. It came to your senses that Arthur didn’t feel the same way.  
Sighing, you sat down next to the gunslinger, rested your elbows on your thighs, and intertwined your fingers together, looking over to Arthur. “Who’s waiting for you? In heaven I mean.”   
Religion was always something you wavered back and forth about. Your parents were strong believers in God. You were too, once, it all changed when your parents were murdered in cold blood. But, the thought of heaven still comforted you.  
Arthur tilted his head, a look of sympathy on his face, “I ain’t goin’ to heaven, Y/N. I'm a bad man, I don't deserve to.” You gulped. “Don’t say that, you’re not a bad man.” Arthur scoffed, “Y/N, stop lying. I’ve done horrible things.” You clenched and unclenched your fists, feeling your eyes start to tear up.  
You hated the fact that you couldn't stop yourself from crying at small things, it made you feel weak and a fool. “Y/N, stop,” Arthur stated sternly. You let out a quiet sob. “Y/N, stop goddamn crying! That’s one of the only fuckin’ goddamn things you’ve done since we’ve met each other! ”   
You turned your head to look at the man next to you.   
“Fuck, I-I’m sorry, Y/N,” He whispered under his breath.   
“I know you’re not a bad man, okay?!” You jabbed a finger at him, “because if you can’t pull yourself together enough to shoot a horse, then you can’t even begin to imagine doing the things I’ve seen. I know what a bad man is, I know because they did bad things to me!! Fucking horrible things a-and… I know you’re not a bad man because you’ve shown me more kindness in a week than I’ve been shown in four years.” You cried, tears streaming down your face. “I have people waiting for me and… I know you have people waiting for you too.” You gulped, wiping away your tears. Arthur was silent, his head hung low.   
“Ya still don’t know if I’m not a bad man” he whispered under his breath.   
You looked down, “I’ll take a gamble.”   
Arthur sighed, “I know ya will.”  
The two of you shared a moment of silence. Both of you felt guilty about how the two of you had reacted, but neither of you wanted to admit it. Arthur reached up to scratch his chin, his sleeve falling down slightly to reveal his scar littered forearm, some looking like old bullet wounds and others sharp objects. 

Maybe he is a bad man, you sure as hell don’t get those scars falling in church.

You stopped looking at his scars when he went to rest his arm on his thigh. You sighed, not really knowing how to break the silence, you were never really the social type. You rested your hands against your lips, speaking into them. “Let’s not give up on Dutch just yet, we still have some time.” You mumbled awkwardly. You looked to Arthur, who shrugged at your words.   
"Sure."  
There was another moment of silence. You didn’t know what to say to Arthur, you’d only known him for a few weeks. Does he not like when you apologize? Does he like this awkward silence? It scared you, wondering what he thought of you. Things like that always had. You’d never walk down a street without growing slightly self-conscious.  
You looked forward and nodded, placing your hands down. You mumbled a small, "Sorry" before turning your head away from Arthur.   
Arthur sigh, "Ain't gotta be sorry for somethin' ya didn' do." Arthur looked at you, he didn’t understand why you were always so hard on yourself with things like this. It was his fault, it was always his fault, or at least that’s what he told himself. “No, I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” you retorted while shaking your head. “I deserved every damn bit of wha’ ya told me, ya didn’ do nothin’.” You nodded, he obviously wasn’t going to let you take the blame. Your foot tapped against the ground, filling the silence between the two of you.   
“Will the hanging hurt?” You asked, running out of things to say. “Never done it,” he said bluntly. A small humorless laugh rolled out of your mouth. “What, really. I never would’ve guessed.” You joked sarcastically. The two of you shared a laugh before falling quiet. You looked at Arthur, “I meant what I said when I said you’re the kindest man I’ve run into in the past four years.” He met your eyes, “Well ya obviously don’ know me very well but thanks you.” You smiled at him, "You're welcome."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for waiting!!


End file.
